The fleet of galaxy class cruisers travelled swiftly
through hyperspace on their journey to the tiny
M-Way Galaxy near the far end of the Universe.

An apparently insignificant galaxy only 2700 billion
billion trillion miles across, with only two thousand
million stars. One galaxy out of over one hundred
thousand galaxies so far charted - and their
destination a tiny blue planet circling an
insignificant star buried deep within the cloudy
M-Way.

There were twelve cruisers in the fleet - the
traditional number representing justice and fitting
for the task that permeated the every thought of
their leader, the self-styled Glaxibel the Avenger.

His fist smashed down on the desk console as the
red fires of anger flowed through him and he
pictured the tiny ice-blue ball of the planet its
inhabitants called Earth, smashed to tiny
smithereens.

Soon, oh so soon, he trusted. But not yet, not yet - there was much work to do and his responsibility
to ensure that all their plans were well implemented
and carried through to their final, awful conclusion.

Who would see this brief firework light up the sky,
he wondered. No intelligent life had been charted in
the vicinity of Earth, certainly no-one near enough
to pick up the explosion visually.

And the mindless inhabitants of the blue ball? What
would they know of it? A phrase filtered through
his mind, "Here today, gone tomorrow" ..... Well,
that was an adequate description for the Earth
itself. And it seemed to be the basis of how these
unthinking, uncaring terrestrials had lived out their
lives up to the present. An obvious disregard for
conservation, wiping out species after species, using
up one resource after another - let alone the
appalling actions which had called the impending
retribution upon them .....

Glaxibel wrenched his thoughts away from the deep
pit of desperation which seemed to permeate even
the space/time boundaries of this bleak little
planet. He had work to do, much to organise, his
fleet of cruisers to bring into position so that the
implementation of his plans could, finally, begin.

* * * * * * * * *

The twelve galaxy class cruisers positioned
themselves strategically around the periphery of
the tiny blue ball-planet - not equidistant but each
selecting a position in proximity to a satellite
closely linked with one of the major "powers" (or at
any rate those in control of nuclear weaponry)
around the planet. With consummate ease existing
satellite communications were subtly over-ridden -
still appearing to operate in the same way for the
benefit of Earth-inhabitants but actually allowing
the alien fleet direct access to the heart of the
major computer-players across the planet.

Unobtrusive observation of the computer systems
over the past 51 years had enabled the Alphalese
to plan a mode of infiltration which would not
trigger mass panics as had the intrusion of
computer hackers in the past - the Earth boffins
were simply unaware now that they had active
"company".

All the over-rides were swiftly, subtly inserted -
and all at the same moment in time. The telepathic
inter-communication of the Alphalese was invaluable
in this - there was an unerring cohesion of action
on all twelve of the star cruisers and simply an
infinitesimal "blip" on each Earth satellite-computer
link which wasn't particularly noticeable anywhere,
and over in less than a second. The scene was set,
now - irrevocably.

Glaxibel settled back comfortably in his seat. He
picked up unhurriedly on the inter-earth chatter of
the satellites, these people who constantly
monitored and spied on one another and yet seemed
incapable of detecting the much greater audience
which in turn tuned into them from time to time,
whenever one of the many cruiser fleets passed by.

Such a strange, seemingly-introspective race. So
preoccupied with their own concerns. How could
they be so unaware of the larger picture? He
shrugged. It wasn't going to matter one way or the
other for very much longer.

* * * * * * * * *

Glaxibel laid his head back against the deep blue
headrest of his softly-upholstered executive
recliner. The pale milk-white skin of his forehead
was deeply etched with the lines of the sorrow he
carried deep within him, had carried with him for
51 long years now. Temporarily freed from the
specific responsibilities of his mission, now that the
satellite links were in place, and with twelve hours
to wait until the final "moment of truth" he allowed
his mind to wander yet again along well-trodden
passageways of pain and unbelievable loss.

It had all begun so hopefully. In his role as
commander of the outreach fleet he had been
keeping a watchful eye on this planet called Earth
and reporting back to the Council of Elders from
time to time about the happenings and developments
in this strange little planet full of destructive and
yet curiously hopeful little beings called "humans".
Not so dissimilar from the Alphalese in their
physical appearance - bodies with arms and legs
and heads, but oddly proportioned; such
correspondingly-tiny heads which reflected the
minor amount of brain power they actually used, but
stronger and more well developed lower bodies which
were used for more physical activity than the
Alphalese were accustomed to. Glaxibel knew that
the Aphalese had been similar to the Earth people
in their earlier stages of development, but that the
head-to-body ratio of his own race had changed
considerably as they became more cerebral, more
definably intelligent, had dispensed altogether with
weaponry and had developed their inter-telepathic
links. And then of course had taken on their
peace-keeping role throughout a number of
galaxies, expanding gradually through most of the
known universe.

Which of course was what had led them to Earth,
and specifically to that tiny place on it known as
Roswell, which had been fundamental in the
development of the atomic bomb known as "Fat Boy"
which had wreaked such devastation on a place
called Hiroshima some two or three years before
the Roswell incident. The brief, hot-white atomic
flash at Hiroshima; the whitish-grey mushroom
cloud which followed; and the deadening of the land
and the animals and the broken-spirited people who
would carry the aftermath of the bomb through so
many generations.

The Alphalese Council had ordered constant
monitoring of the place called Roswell after the
"Fat Boy" bomb and Glaxibel's whole family had
been part of the monitoring crew along with several
other cruisers of the peace-keeping fleet.

What unkind fate then was it that had decreed all
the rest of his family members should have been on
the one cruiser that crashed one night at Roswell in
1947? There had been nothing to indicate that
night would be anything out of the ordinary - all
the Alphalese on the star cruisers around Roswell
had been soaking up the beauty of the interweaving
colours of the sunset across the late-evening sky
and were watching the cloak of darkness descend
when with no warning there was a malfunction on
the main power source of Cruiser Seven. Glaxibel
hadn't been on that cruiser - star fleet
commanders generally have a separate cruiser, he
rationalised - but unfortunately he had been near
enough to witness for himself exactly what
happened in the aftermath of the crash.

Several of his family had "bought it" when the
cruiser came down - but not all of them. Of the
eight on board, three of his sisters and one brother
perished in the crash - but his last and closest
sister survived, along with his three other brothers.

His sister - Romara - was the only one unhurt, and
almost straight away she came out of the cruiser to
get help for Jomandor, Kelvor, Genjor. Out into the
blackness of a bleak earth night suddenly lit up by
searing white vehicle lights - and the appalling,
almost immediate, low whistle of a bullet that came
from somewhere beyond the lights and slammed
jarringly into her fragile pale body.

Glaxibel shivered even in the warm comfort of the
chair as he imaged again her pale hands held up in
mute supplication as she implored her assailants for
help for her, and her brothers - and experienced
once more her telepathic pleas for help, even more
than 50 years on. Her pain - and theirs, and his
own - would echo down the centuries for ever, so
much he knew from even elementary physics. Always
the unthinkable reminder travelling down the
corridors of time .....

The silent plea had met with no response other than
a hail of bullets slamming into Romara's defenceless
body and in less than two brief Earth-minutes her
fragile life was extinguished.

And with her life departed some part of Glaxibel,
watching the Roswell military site helplessly from
his cruiser - some eternally-hopeful part of him
extinguished in pain and anguish and a red fog of
anger which threatened to blot out any part of him
that hoped or cared or trusted or even wanted to
live.

And it hadn't ended there. The callous
Earth-people had dissected Romara's body-shell
(had they no respect for anything? they did that
even to their own people): they had then folded her
arms on her approximately-reconstructed body and
put her in a lead-lined coffin (presumably to
minimise decay?) and buried her in the ground of
their planet.

And worse had been to follow. Glaxibel's three
brothers - the ones who had survived the crash -
had been subjected to the most appalling
experimentation, whilst fully conscious - unable to
communicate verbally (and Earth-people seemingly
unable to receive telepathic thoughtforms) their
physical torment seemed somehow irrelevant to the
callous scientists who ignored the universal symbol
of hands pressed together and the entreaty of eyes
pleading for compassion, and who continued to carry
out so many pointless "experiments". Glaxibel had
experienced the full weight of his brothers'
suffering and torment - the burden of which so
many Alphalese had helped to share, telepathically,
but which somehow was still no less his - and in
many ways his brothers' eventual deaths had been
a blessed release, whilst dually hardening his
resolve for vengeance ..... such infliction of
suffering could surely not go unpunished.

He'd had a hard time of it with the Council. So
many times the Council members had tried to talk
to him of forgiveness and caring, and he'd felt like
he was beating his head against a brick wall.
They'd soaked him in healing colourand healing
music in their chambers, and supported him with
their minds, and tried to talk him through the pain
- and he knew they had all felt something of the
torment with him, and that they cared - but it
wasn't enough, he knew thatsomehow his family's
deaths at the hands of these Earth-people had to
be avenged; somehow these Earth-people had to be
taught a lesson, one they wouldn't forget.

It had taken a very long time, Glaxibel
remembered, before he had been able to persuade
the Council to let him lead a mission of vengeance
to sort this out once and for all. But he'd won,
they'd agreed: and now he was finally back here
and it was really going to happen.

He sighed deeply. It had been a long wait, a very
long wait. And now here he was, only about ten
hours before the scores were finally settled.

He gazed intently at the blue-ish planet, swathed
in parts of one side by the reddish-golds of sunset.
Yes, there had been a sunset that night at Roswell.
Echoes of the past, in lots of ways now. Curious
how beautiful it could all look from a distance, he
thought. And curious also how a planet which could
be at times so beautiful, should be peopled by
beings who spent most of their waking lives
destroying things, and fighting with each other.
"They've brought this on themselves", he murmured
softly. "Brought it on themselves."

* * * * * * * * * *

The hours before dawn passed slowly. Glaxibel slept
fitfully, here and there, snatching brief minutes of
sleep as the light of the sun made its slow passage
around the planet until the time it would re-awaken
the town of Roswell.

Slowly, surely, the minutes ticked away. The time
was approaching to spark the atomic war which
would blow this tiny planet into oblivion.

The countdown, the build-up of tension, the moment
of issuing the final computer command. "A life for a
life" Glaxibel had come to believe - though he knew
wiping out a whole planet was probably just a little
over the top.

Part of him knew that somehow, maybe, this was
wrong - there were vague stirrings in some
long-ice-hardened heart region that this couldn't
be wholly, totally, the right thing to do. Six billion
human beings vulnerable to the touch of a computer
button? Could his relatives be worth so much
destruction?

As the dawn over Roswell approached, Glaxibel's
resolve hardened. The pain of the past returned in
full measure and again he smashed his fist down on
the console. Briefly an image passed before his
eyes, of a giant fist smashing the ice-blue ball of
the Earth in revenge for all the wilful destruction
unleashed already amongst Earth's inhabitants.

Glaxibel nodded silently to himself. Yes, that was
how this all deserved to end. He reached out
towards the button which would interlink with the
systems in all twelve star cruisers and unleash via
the satellites the computer-generated atomic war
which would wipe this planet off the face of the
universe for ever. For eternity. So be it.

Glaxibel had received their full judgement: in
planning destruction he had unwittingly engineered
his own, for this was against the altruistic
principles of the Alphalese.

Glaxibel never knew he was unsuccessful: but his
vengefulness inevitably met with its own reward. In
the process he was healed and his brothers and
sisters freed from Glaxibel's grief which had bound
them to the lead-lined coffins on Earth in which
their bodies lay with folded hands: returned to the
freedom of the star spheres from which all
originated and to which all, one day, return.